Good Ideas
by crazigurl181818
Summary: <html><head></head>In which Sherlock solves a case at the most inopportune of times and John deals with the consequences. But who ever said he didn't like it?</html>


_In which Sherlock solves the case at an inopportune time and John, as always, deals with the consequences. But who ever said he didn't like it?_

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, just the plot. All rights go to whom they belong.

John Watson sat in the living room of 221B Baker Street, immersed in the tele. Well not really immersed, as he was just staring at the screen. He was thinking of nothing in particular; just spacing out and enjoying his moment alone while his roommate was busy. Ah, yes. That was something (or someone) to think about. John Watson's incredible, peculiar, brilliant, sociopathic, whirling dervish of a roommate: Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The man was currently taking a shower, and quite a loud one at that. John could hear him muttering from his recliner. John simply shook his head, giving a fond smile to the otherwise empty room.

After a few more seconds of sitting still, John huffed out a breath he hadn't known he was holding and reached a hand for the remote that was balancing precariously on the pile of books and papers resting on the little round table next to his chair. He plucked the device up expertly and punched the red power button, the television screen going blank with a small blip. He then placed his elbow on the arm of said chair and rested his cheek on his open palm. John had enjoyed his spot of solitude, but now he was a trifle bored. Bored...how could he ever be bored with Sherlock in the building? In the country, even?

Then, as if to prove his point, John heard a gasp come from the bathroom. His eyes swiveled to the direction of the source, and then he heard a small thud as Sherlock did...something. John turned more in his chair to get a look through the kitchen, down to the bathroom. As if it had been a cue, the door was thrown open and Sherlock came barreling out in a cloud of steam. Seeing john perched in his chair, he practically ran to him.

"I've figured it out, John. Call Lestrade immediately. And we're leaving. Hurry. Grab your coat." John could only stare owlishly at Sherlock. He felt a blush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, making him feel a bit too hot. When John didn't move or even ask a question, Sherlock huffed. The sound startled John, and he cleared his throat.

"Um, Sherlock...putting coats to the side a moment, you're not even wearing any, ahem, clothes..."

Sherlock blinked his silvery eyes then looked down at himself. "Ah...quite right Dr. Watson. Quite right." He tilted his head to the side a bit as if contemplating something. "And...this is...an unacceptable state of dress, yes?"

John's jaw dropped. "I know you're not that familiar with social conduct, but surely you must know going out in public naked is not acceptable! Besides, you'd freeze!"

Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin like he so often did and replied, "Highly unlikely."

John's eyes flashed. "Dont argue with your doctor about things pertaining to your health."

"Yes, yes." Sherlock waved off the comment offhandedly, his mind already somewhere else. He wandered towards the coats and took his down off the hook, along with his blue scarf. John, realizing what he was doing, sprang from his chair and rushed over to Sherlock.

"Oh, no you don't!" he exclaimed. He commandeered the coat from Sherlock's loose grip and gently started pushing him towards the bathroom. "Clothes, Sherlock, clothes!"

Sherlock sort of struggled in John's grip, doing his best to turn around and head out the door.

"But John, we need to get the the Yard!"

John shook his head. "No, no, no, no, no. I allow you the most troublesome of things, but on this I stand firm. We are not leaving this flat until you are decently dressed." And with that, he shoved Sherlock into his bedroom and pulled the door shut behind him.

John let out a huff of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then stood still for a second before a blush started creeping up his neck. Oh God. Sherlock had been naked right in front of him and he'd touched him. Manhandled him, even. John looked down at his shaking hands, and felt his knees go weak. This was going to be enough to cause wet dreams for _months. _

Suddenly, the door flew open, and there stood Sherlock in his regular, formal attire. He blinked at John, and his head tilted to the side; appraising. "Are you alright, John. You look flushed." he stated. He laid his hand over John's forehead, and frowned in a semi-concerned matter. He hummed and said, "You don't seem to have a fever…"

John finally came back to himself and jumped back from the contact, his blush increasing twofold. "No, no. I don't have a fever, Sherlock," he stated, looking anywhere but at the male in front of him. Sherlock hummed in agreement, then the odd moment of sentiment was over and he was speeding down the hall towards the door.

He disappeared around the corner for a second, and then his head was peeking back to look at John who still hadn't moved. "You still have my coat."

John looked down in surprise, and, sure enough, he had Sherlock's coat in a death grip. "Ah…" he said, but made no signs of moving.

Sherlock stared at him pointedly, and when John was still doing nothing besides staring at the coat in his hand, he marched back over and started pushing John towards the door. "Come, Dr. Watson. We have a case to solve."

John physically shook himself out of his revery and nodded in agreement. "Yes, yes. Murderers to catch and all." Sherlock smirked and grabbed his coat while tossing John his. The jacket was on in 2 seconds flat with a swoosh, and Sherlock was bounding down the stairs. "Hurry!" he called back up. "There is no time to waste!"

John shook his head affectionately and chased after his flatmate. He would deal with his *ahem* problem below the waist later.

* * *

><p>The end? Tell me if I should continue. I could very easily turn this into a multi-chapter fic.<p> 


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